


Garden City Flowers

by sweeterthanstrawberries



Category: The Punisher - Fandom
Genre: Billy Russo/reader - Freeform, Billy Russo/you - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, florist!AU, kind of ooc billy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:40:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25606000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthanstrawberries/pseuds/sweeterthanstrawberries
Summary: An unusual customer requests a peculiar arrangement that leads to a blooming friendship and eventual love.
Relationships: Billy Russo x Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys!! this is my first billy russo fic, and i really enjoyed writing it, so i'm super excited to share it with you. i hope you take the time to read and enjoy!

Zinnias, ranunculus, peach roses, and baby’s breath cover the counter to make the order you received yesterday over the phone.

_‘Could I place an order for a centerpiece arrangement?’ the man on the other end of the line asks._

_‘Of course, sir. Are there any particular flowers you want to include?’_

_‘Uh, well. I’m not really sure, I guess,’ a breathy chuckle echoes through the receiver. ‘I was hoping I could request colors. I don’t really know much about flowers.’_

_‘No problem, sir,’ you assure. ‘What colors would you like?’_

_‘Orange and pink,’ he says with a rather uncertain intonation._

_‘Sounds great. Can I get a name for the order?’_

_‘Russo.’_

_You hum as you scribble down his name on the receipt._

_ ‘And your phone number?’ _

_ He rambles off a series of numbers that you copy down. _

_‘_ _And what day will you be by to pick them up?’_

_‘Tomorrow.’_

_‘Great. Thank you for your business, sir.’_

Light eucalyptus foliage fills out the base of the arrangement nicely, highlighting the springtime nature of the warm colors. The flowers come next, peaches, pinks, and oranges with accents of white throughout. With a ribbon around the stems, you pop the flowers in some water and the fridge and begin work on another order from the small stack of receipts on the counter.

Bobbing your head and rapping along to the hip-hop station streaming from your speakers, you work quickly on a delicate bouquet of white daisies and forget me nots. The vase fills up with the petite flowers, artfully arranged to decorate dinner tables and mantles.

You work around the shop, adjusting the displays, picking out flowers that are beginning to wilt. Your business is small, quaint, and on a fairly quiet street. Buckets of peonies and garden roses adorn the patio in front of the door, and garlands of drying bouquets are hung upside down awaiting customers just inside.

You live and breathe this flower shop. You have worked hard for it, and you have no intention of letting it go any time soon.

“You can find me in the club,” you whisper, dipping the watering can into the vases of the displays. “Bottle fulla bub.”

The bell rings above the door, so you set down the watering can and move behind the counter, lowering the volume of 50 Cent on the radio. When you turn, a man is in front of you, standing in an expensive suit jacket, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes roaming the displays. He is attractive beyond reason, and completely out of place in your tiny flower shop filled to the brim with white carnations and purple hydrangeas.

“Hi, welcome to Garden City Flowers,” you say cheerily, drawing the man’s dark eyes to you.

A bright smile on your lips hides your curiosity as he walks to the counter, never breaking eye contact.

“Hello, I called in an order yesterday,” he says smoothly.

“The name?” you ask, ready to fetch the flowers from the back room.

“Russo.”

This is the man you spoke with on the phone yesterday? The awkward caller that told you he didn’t know much about flowers? The man in front of you is far from the one you pictured would be coming in today to pick up a particularly sweet, peach arrangement.

With a nod, you hustle to the back room, opening the fridge and finding the requested piece. You glance at the notes you scribbled on the receipt and the name Russo in all caps. Huh. Definitely not what you were expecting. You would think a bachelor like that would be in here buying red roses for a fiance or girlfriend. _Maybe these are for someone_ , you think pessimistically, and you find yourself oddly disappointed by the fact.

“Here you are,” you say brightly, coating your unwarranted discontent as you place the bouquet on the counter, receipt in one hand, ringing up the order. You brave a glance at the customer, Russo, and find his hand rubbing the back of his neck like he is uncomfortable.

“Thank you,” he says, swiping the flowers off the counter after exchanging the money.

“You’re welcome, sir. It’s a particularly beautiful arrangement, if I do say so myself,” you smile.

He chuckles, nodding, examining the flowers. “Call me Billy.” His eyes flick to yours briefly before falling back to the arrangement. “They’ll look great on my table.”

You cock your head curiously, again surprised by the man in front of you. Flowers on the table is a particularly domestic habit, and you wonder what inspires it in him. “I’m glad. Thank you for your business, Billy.”

He makes for the exit, and before he can open the door, you call out, “Come back soon!”

Throwing a grin and a wink over his shoulder, Billy says, “I will,” and exits the shop, leaving you curiously confused at Billy Russo and his peculiar interest in flowers.


	2. Chapter 2

The tinkling of the door bell draws your eyes to the entrance, and who walks in keeps them there. In another expensive suit, Billy Russo meanders into the store, smiling and bobbing his head slightly to the Biggie Smalls sounding through the speakers.

“Hi, Billy, right?” you set the clippers in hand down to approach your return customer.

He turns and extends a hand to shake. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“I’m not sure I introduced myself last time. I’m Y/N,” you offer after dropping your hand from his grasp. “I can’t say I remember making an order for Russo.”

“I didn’t call in. Was hoping I could order now,” Billy says with a shrug. You wonder how he could make something so simple as a tilt of the shoulder look so good. You berate yourself for your thoughts, but smile nonetheless at the fact that it is true.

“No problem,” you reply, moving to stand behind the counter, grabbing a pen and receipt pad.

“I’m still learning, so can I just ask for whatever’s freshest?”

“Sure you can,” you say, scribbling notes onto the pad. “Do you want to hang around while I make it?”

Billy nods and begins to wander again when you disappear into the back room to grab flowers from the fridge. You pull out branches of greenery, privet berries, white sweet peas, and garden roses in varying colors. Gathering the rest of your supplies, you bring everything back to the counter in the body of the store, hoping that Billy would want to stick around and chat.

You lay everything out and start to work on the arrangement, clipping and fiddling with the stems and flowers. Billy casually strolls over to where you are, curiosity and interest clear on his face.

“I noticed your music choice last week,” Billy says, his eyes still glued to your hands working quickly with the scissors. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a 50 Cent fan.”

A laugh lilts from your lips. “An odd choice for a florist, I know,” you shrug, casting a glance to your radio that is playing your hip-hop playlist. “I sometimes forget that other people can hear it too.”

Billy leans against the counter, chuckling. Sticking the stems of the greenery into the foam arrangement oasis, you try to not falter in your surety just because Billy is watching you. He reads your shoulders, noticing the tautness, so he starts up a conversation in an attempt to ease your apprehension.

“Your store is,” he pauses as if searching for the right word, “nice.” 

You look up to find his eyes crinkled in an amused grimace. “You don’t go to many flower shops, do you Billy?” you tease.

At your comment, Billy’s shoulders slump in a soft heave of a laugh as his head rocks side to side. In truth, Billy had never been inside a flower store before yours. He figured that it might make his house more of a home if he added some flowers to the kitchen table. It didn’t really, but they reminded him of you and the way you smiled. He has been itching to return ever since. 

“No,” Billy answers with a grin. “I can’t say that I do.”  
What you are about to say is interrupted by the phone ringing, and you quickly lift it off the receiver to answer. Billy takes this time to steal glances at you listening and writing with concentration. His eyes find your lips tucked in at your teeth, voicing hums and questions through the telephone. He can imagine now what you looked like when he was on the other line, fumbling along a simple order.

Before long, the call ends, and you turn back to the flowers in front of you, as well as to Billy who is smiling while examining a small bucket of blue delphiniums.

“Billy, would you do me a favor?” you stop your work to go find the watering can you set down somewhere around the store. “Can you, uh, where did you run off to?” 

“I’m right here,” he calls from behind you, tone a little confused.

“No, not you. My watering can.” 

Looking around the buckets of flowers, you sigh. You always lose things in the maze of flowers and greenery, so you think that it might be a lost cause for now until you hear a shuffling from the other side of the store.

“Is this it?” Billy asks, holding up a metal pitcher in hand.

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Would you finish filling the yellow rose bucket with water? I’ll forget if I don’t do it now.”

Nodding and grinning, Billy, in his tailored Ralph Lauren suit jacket, pushes his way through the bunches of gerber daisies resting in water to get to the roses. You nearly laugh at the sight, but school yourself as you turn back to your arrangement.

“Anything else I can do?” he hollers from his place in between the buckets.

“If you want to fill up the can, the peonies need water too.”

Wordlessly, Billy moves to the sink behind your counter, brushing your shoulders with his back as he does. You can hear the thudding of water hitting the bottom of the can as you shove a sweet pea into the foam block. Reaching around Billy, you scoop a spoonful of fertilizer out of the box on the counter, your chest nearly pressed into his back, and pour it into the can when the water is near the top. He looks over his shoulder at you smiling, a smirk clear on his face as he does.

“Which ones are the peonies?” he asks softly.

“Over here,” you say with a jerk of your head, leading him to the section of the shop with the large flowers, pointing to the right bin. “Thanks, Billy.”

“‘S no problem,” he replies smoothly. 

With one last glance, you return to the counter to finish the last touches of Billy’s arrangement. You can’t help but watch him as he works, leaning over the flowers, tilting the water into the stems. 

Ruffling up the petals, you nod in satisfaction at the completed work. You can hear the patter of Billy’s soft footsteps as they approach the counter.

“That looks great, Y/N,” he says, pulling out his wallet.

“Thank you,” you reply gently, heat prickling at your cheeks. You want to ask him what he does with the flowers, but you bite your tongue, not wanting to sound nosey.

He hands you what you are owed and swipes the arrangement off of the counter.

“See you soon,” Billy announces, turning for the exit.

“Bye, Billy,” you wave, hoping that he is telling the truth.


	3. Chapter 3

Every time someone walks through the door, you hope that it’s Billy. You hope that it’s him calling every time you pick up the phone. You are always disappointed, but your hopes don’t seem to give up no matter how many times they are let down.

“Thanks for coming, Charlie,” you say to the elderly man who just bought a rather beautiful orchid arrangement you had made.

“Goodbye, sweetheart. Martha’s going to love these,” he replies kindly.

“I really hope she does.”

You watch him walk out the door, making sure he doesn’t trip on the step down. Charlie has been a regular since you opened, frequently buying all sorts of arrangements for his wife who was diagnosed with dementia a few years ago. You swear he is keeping you in business by how many flowers he’s bought from you.

Shuffling off to the back room, Hall and Oates echoing around the store, you peruse the fridge of flowers. You grab a large bucket of red roses that was just shipped in to be put out on display, and begin hauling it to the aisles.

The bell rings on the door, so you call out a strained, “I’ll be with you in a moment!” 

Trudging through the doorway into the body of the shop, you hear a familiar voice say, “Let me help you with that.”

Before you can protest, hands are wrapped around the lid of the bin, taking it from you. From over the flowers, you see that it is Billy.

“Oh, Billy! Hi.”

“Where do you want them?” he asks, holding up the heavy bucket of roses and water like he is barely trying.

“Right by the tulips, over there,” you point to the empty space on the floor to the left of the counter.

Easily, Billy carries them and places the bucket gently in the spot you specified, You breathe a ‘thank you’ before returning to your place behind the counter.

“What can I get you today?” you ask with a smile.

“Last week I noticed some blue flowers,” Billy glances around, looking for them. When he spots the delphiniums, he says, “These. Could I have some of these in an arrangement?”

“Of course,” you nod, scribbling down the order, and rushing off to grab some of the fresher ones from the fridge along with pink wild roses, bay leaves, and buttercups. You return to the counter to find Billy pushing aside flowers in the buckets to check the water levels.

“Anything need watering?” he asks, his tone seemingly genuine.

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you nod.

“The hydrangeas and zinnias do.”

Billy makes his way to you, grabbing the can from the counter, filling it with water like he did before, even scooping the fertilizer himself. You, almost haphazardly, are sticking the stems of the bay leaves into the arrangement oasis, too busy watching Billy move around the shop, watering the flowers you direct him to.

“Does anyone else work here with you?” Billy asks, casting his eyes around the shop, searching for an employee that he won’t find.

“No, it’s just me,” you say as you push a rose into the arrangement. “Don’t get enough work to need it. Couldn’t afford it anyway.” 

The last part comes out quieter than the rest as it is a little embarrassing. In front of you is Billy who comes in with a different Rolex each week, and you are here with your gold chain necklace you bought from the thrift store. You see the differences in your lifestyles. They’re hard to ignore. 

Eager to change the topic, you ask, “What do you do, Billy, for work?”

You can see his posture straighten and hands grip the handle of the watering can. 

“I own a business, like you,” he replies vaguely, and you decide to not ask any more, the signs of his unease clear. 

“Cool,” you nod, placing a delphinium in the arrangement. 

“No gangster rap?” Billy teases, effectively shaking away the tensity in the air.

You laugh lightly, responding sarcastically and with a shrug, “Wasn’t feeling like drug dealing today.”

At this, Billy chuckles, eventually barking in laughter, unable to stop himself. 

Billy likes you. He likes how easy you are to trust and how willing you are to trust him. He likes your humor and kindness. You aren’t after him for his money, at least not in the way most women he meets are, and it’s refreshing. He enjoys your company seemingly as much as you enjoy his. 

Setting down the watering can, he turns to you, watching how swiftly you place buttercups into perfectly calculated openings in the arrangement. 

“Garden City Flowers. Why’d you name it that if we’re in Manhattan?” Billy asks as you stick the last stem into the oasis. 

“I grew up in Garden City,” you answer softly. “I wanted to keep that part of my life with me, even if everything else from it is gone.”

Billy notices the wistfulness in your tone, reading that there’s more to you than just flowers. He doesn’t respond and let’s the words hang in the air. 

“Well, you’re all set,” you say, wrapping up the arrangement in plastic packaging. 

“Thanks, Y/N,” he replies, grabbing the flowers from you, exchanging a wad of cash that you already know is way too much for the one arrangement, You begin to count out what he actually owes you, separating the unnecessary bills. He quickly catches onto what you are doing, and places a hand on yours, stopping you.

“Keep it, please,” Billy presses.

“I can’t accept this, Billy, it’s way too much,” you say, pushing the bills into his hand that is still holding yours.

You can see in his eyes that he isn’t going to let up, so you sigh and wad the bills, nodding and whispering a small ‘thank you.’ 

“I’ll see you next week,” Billy all but declares.

“See you then,” you respond, barely biting back a grin at the promise.

When he turns to leave, you count the almost obscene amount of money he gave you. You think back to what you said earlier about not affording employees, and kick yourself for letting it pass your lips. It makes you realize again just how different you are. He has bundles of money to shove in your hand for cheap flowers. You barely have enough revenue to pay rent.

You don’t make sense together, and you need to start realizing that.


End file.
